Well here it is 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning and again I am unable to sleep. Seems another morning has come where my mind doesn’t want to shut off. It’s so early, actually I’ve been awake since three, but just started coffee and had to get some thoughts out of my head.

First thing I think however, “Damn…..this world can be so insane and evil at times.” That’s it. That’s the first thought. Then, “How can I try to make things different and what are my next few steps going to be?”

I was just telling my beautiful friend, Michal Madison, the other day on the phone about what I am going to write to you here. She and I have become quite close you see. We have never met, but she knows me; she knows my spirit and my dreams. In fact we share many of the same thoughts and wishes, the passions of how we can try to create something better.

Anyway, here goes. “It’s sad to realize that no other mammal on this earth is as cruel to its young as we humans. Even the most ferocious animals of the kingdom; the lions, tigers, and yes, even bears are nurturing to their young. They keep them safe always. These breeds of God’s creations often stay together happily throughout their lifetime. However, humans beat, neglect, degrade, molest and rape our young. We manipulate them in our domestic relationships and our adult world. We use them to satisfy our own sick demented need for power and greatness, even sadistic desires.”

Do you know absolutely any adult can manipulate, over power, and control a child or even preteen; actually any human who is cruel can make another feel less worthy? It is when they have developed the adult body parts, the adult logical thinking, the adult ability to speak out, fight back, run away we start picking another less powerful force.

I made a statement in a Facebook comment yesterday afternoon. In this I discussed, “What would happen if each person who is able, chose to protect just one other who was younger, weaker, not able to protect themselves in some way; How would our world change? What morals and human decency would we be able to give to the next generation? What basic human skills could we give to our children to make this world a better place?”

I’m not sure if you feel as I do, but I’m more concerned about what morality will exist in my grandchildren’s futures rather than what debt they’ll be burdened to carry. Let’s face facts; “How do we ever expect them to pay off our world deficit?” I really don’t view this as a possibility for them. It really is a hope that we can change our pattern of spending to reduce this, but I believe that it may be an impossible feat for them at this point.

“What if instead we all chip in through moral teachings?” We can start punishing those who harm them, make calls to help rescue them, teach them they are worthy; teach them the process I began teaching my own grandchildren and try hard to pass on to them…..

“There are bad things in this world. There are people who are simply bad and do things to hurt other people. We can’t think that God can fix everything and take all the bad people, all the bad things, and rid them away. What we can do, is each try to be good inside. We each can try to find our good and share it with others. We also have to help protect those around us from bad things and bad people.”

That’s it simple easy step one as explained to my, then, six-year-old grandson. Every time someone begins to bully him or tries to be mean to him, he does speak up for himself, most times. But, at the same time when you talk to him he worries about if someone is being mean to them. He even tells his mom and dad when they’re not being nice. He has a great heart and a true soul. My awesome grandson, Gavin, knows at nine years old what it means to be kind and be a good person. I’m not sure I can say that for many adults I’ve come across in my life. It’s tragic to think of the world he, his brother, and my precious little granddaughter are going to be so sadly changed by the cruel sense of others. **Note: (Gavin wrote a story, himself, about this and now he and NaNa are working on the publication)**

“Do you believe we can change the path of mankind? Do you believe we all have the personal right to be safe in our world? Do you believe that if we all choose to protect our own rather than harm them, that we can create a better, kinder, safer world to give them?”

So you may now ask…..”What are my next few steps in this journey to make a difference?”

I am going to share these statements wherever I can. I am going to write about these statements, do public speaking on these statements, try to inspire some sense of moral kindness towards another. Most of all, I am going to ask you to look inside, to ask yourself;

“If I can protect just one and ask another to protect just one, maybe something will change? If I can speak for the goodness in mankind, if I can try to leave something better for my children and grandchildren; then maybe, just maybe, something will begin to sparkle through the goodness that I pass forward. Rather than hand the world to them with all of the pain, violence, evil, darkness; I can be part of the generation that gathered its voices and decided to take a stand.”

“I can be part of that wonderful group that did something different rather than just accepting what has been turned away from for generations. I can simply begin to be one of those awesome voices that decided to say, NO MORE!!”

Let’s face it folks, if we don’t try to do something, what will our children think of this species called the human race in another twenty years?

If you agree with this and you want to help make a change and just don’t know how to start, look inside yourself. What lies inside your heart? What are your thoughts about these statements?What do you hope to pass forward? If all of your answers here fill your ideas with wonderful possibilities, share that good spirit with others.

“The place we can all begin to create a kinder, more compassionate and safer world; this is the good that lies within.”

For the many who may be dealing with those connections to toxic family members, the ones who do not have the empathy to even share a single drop of emotion for your pain; I would like for you to take out the power sword and blast away the brittle edges left by their senseless attempts at breaking through our barriers of strength. We have our defenses on, we are no longer the children who cried for their help; we are now the ones who hold the magic and although we may not smooth out all of the brokeness within, we will succeed at being our own protectors. Not cold, but disenchanted by their attempts to gain access to our castles.

The day started out pretty good for me today, but then it happened. My phone rang and I recognized the number from a call I had received the other day. It was her, It was ‘Mother’!!!

About 4 years ago I cut off contact with her. It was a must do situation. There is way too much darkness attached to her and being around her, even hearing her voice, used to send my emotions reeling into a panicked frenzy, but not today. It was like a strength that slowly crept up through the depth of my guts and into my heart and then throughout the limbs.

I really found that I was past all this emotional response to her actions. Many times I’ve just shut out her messages, mainly because that voice cuts through to my soul and leaves the jagged edges behind.

I tell myself, “Remember it was her that ALLOWED the rot, the beatings, the molestation, the rapes. She never asked a question or said a word in defense of the child “He” was destroying; building into his own private little whore.”

So as my world got rocked again today, it took a few minutes but I was able to blast away the brittle edges left by the sound of her voice in my phone. It’s not that I answered, it did go to voice mail, but then I listened. Bink told me not to, he warned me I’d get worked up and at first it did just that, a sudden little fleet of panic struck in, but just as quick it was conquered by a sense of knowing what I’m doing and what I did by publishing my story was exactly what needed to be done.

She almost had me exactly where she wanted me though. I couldn’t believe she had threatened me and called Authorhouse to rant and rave about the book. She even ordered them to cancel the publication. This just goes to show the mentality of “Mother”. She recognizes no one’s pain but her own. She ignores the arms that reached out for her to hold me, simply give me her approval and act like she loved me.

So instead of allowing myself to get geared into a panic and fury over what she had tried to do, I took a breath, had a cigarette and returned to my cleaning. As I was vacuuming the ceilings, washing the fans, cleaning the windows; it suddenly dawned on me that the rough brittle edges left by her messages and the sound of her voice, were all falling away. I was able to blast them away without any emotion left behind.

I’m not angry over the message or her actions, as I said it just shows the mentality of the woman I used to call “Mother”.

I’m not crying from her attempt once again to slash at my spirit and break down all that I’ve been building these past few years.

I’m not feeling any sense of loss or grieving over not having the bond that I used to hope we would somehow find together.

I am still standing, I am still strong, I am still determined, I am still continuing on my journey, brushing the dust away from the NOW smoothed curves of my soul. I am amazed at me!!!

This is what I’ve been hoping to achieve. The absolute power I have to erase the mere thought of her attempts to break in once again. This is a very powerful feeling, very invigorating, very encouraging. I am no longer the child clinging to the hopes that one day she would be strong enough to share these words to the daughter she left to grow up in hell; “I’m Sorry”.

She is much to focused on her and when she read a bit of the book, she couldn’t even have a heart to show compassion for the child who struggled so hard to live. She didn’t acknowledge the fights with “Him” to just be a kid rather than be subjected to his evil disgust. She was merely worried about people recognizing the towns we lived in, the houses we lived in. Actually one bit was, “I have friends and they remember me picking up the dirty clothes from your floor and out of your drawer, do you want people to know that about you?”

Ok Folks, Up until I was about 11 and old enough to work a washing machine and dryer, guess who says she used to dig out my clothes and dress me appropriately? I’ve got a fourth grade school photo, that shows the teeth caked with plaque. It also shows the hair greasy and unkept, the clothes are wrinkled and if I remember correctly they we actually a bit small. This is the truth “Mother” feels I should be ashamed of myself for; unbelievable!!! Out of the first bit of the book she read, which with her message had to be at least the first five chapters or so; this is what she picks out as a problem!!!

To this I must say, “She still doesn’t see that anything was wrong in our house.” For those of you who have read a bit about my history or even seen what I share each day as an advocate, now “Mother” has become just another sociopath with a narcissistic personality who permitted atrocities within her home, to her daughter, but believes she is still carrying the power to control. This will never happen again!!!

My castle has become strong. I enjoy my life, I love what I do and feel comforted in knowing that many have read “My Justice”, even those from my past, and have come to let me know that I empower them to keep fighting their way through. Here it is everyone!!! We may indeed be a bit broken, but we are in control and now we have the power to either accept them into our lives on our terms or disengage from them either slightly or completely.

Never let the abusers of our past destroy the castles of strength we build today. We control the drawbridge!!

Wise Lesson from a Grumpy Cloud

This cloud made me think of our emotions and moods. More specifically, it made me think about this phenomenon that we usually call “a bad day”, “a bad hair day”, “feeling under the weather” etc.

I’m sure everyone has experienced those days, when everything seems okay and then suddenly this grumpy looking creature creeps in, drags our mood to a negative gear and tries to ruin our entire day by casting a huge shadow on it.

Well, I think there is a wonderful lesson to learn from this grumpy cloud being – we do not have to let it ruin anything! As we can see from the picture below, the grumpy dude is surrounded by many lovely and cheerful beings and all that actually needs to be done, is to wait for the wind to take…

***Warning: May cause triggers, but I’m sure many will find this particular blog uplifting and hopeful in many ways!!!***

This is a lighter side of the blog “He’s Back Again…”, which you will find below. I know it’s been awhile since I’ve been here, somethings been flying around that I couldn’t quite get a grip on, but here it goes anyway.

So, as I shared in the previous mentioned blog, I have been sucked back into the darkness a bit and actually went running to my wonderful therapist Marjorie for some help to get through. She’s been a blessing in my life at giving me coping skills to stay in my present and work through the darkest of moments, so I couldn’t go without her expertise; I just wouldn’t be this far without her in my world.

As I sat in her small, but quaint decorated office, with pictures of Oriental Art placed about and hung on her walls. You can look into these works of art and wonder about those who created them. They tend to pull you into a world of opening up your spirit and touching base with what lies within.

Many times, as survivors of child sexual abuse, we carry a feeling of extreme violation in our hearts. This can only be described as evil but your soul still carries the innocence of a child. There is and will be a life long impact from child sexual abuse. It does rewire your perceptions; re-align your normal behaviors; it will be scorched into your memory never to be forgotten. You will have periods in your life when you feel surrounded by the darkness and you may even feel your life invaded over and over with the fear from these particular events.

“This is normal. You are not insane. You are one of the many who’s lives have been impacted by the very personal violation of child sexual abuse.”

These remembered events are the darkness that hovers around us, it challenges us, cages us. When these events are play out in our heads, we become that panicked child all over again. Often, as we grow older, we are distraught with the ups and downs of re-living these horrific acts. None of us ever forget these moments!!!

A victim who has gone through such attacks will often go through a cycle, which I commonly refer to as the Rollercoaster of Memories. You may have those off and on again reactions that seem to haunt. At time we think we cannot conquer over them, we fear not being able to just live and exist in the present; appreciating all of the small moments of joy that have crossed our paths.

Recently this is what’s been going on in my head. I feel a bit overwhelmed; flashed back into the memory of when stepfather used the shotgun barrel to rape the little girl. My head has been swarming with a vivid motion picture of that horrible night. I’ve questioned, cried, stomped and prayed; all trying to extract the remembered emotions of terror. I have been in the huge spiral of a downward racing coaster.

As a survivor who puts forth a continued effort to help empower others and inspire them to chase after the life of happiness they deserve; this leaves me feeling like much the hypocrite since I couldn’t seem to help myself. However, I’ve been blessed with some pretty amazing folks who have showered me with prayers, love, little jokes, and tons of well wishes. Still the Demon would not leave me.

The other evening I did the best I could to help myself break through the dark storm. Going to see Marjorie was the best I could have done for myself, as I said she has played a huge part of where I am today and helping me to gain some sense of peace in my world. She has kept me living in the present and filled my soul with the belief I can indeed help myself, so long as I use the coping skills and truly focus on what I aim to achieve.

“Don’t we all have to do this in some way? Isn’t this a very common place of self-doubt that every human endures at times? Isn’t this the basics of living and achieving? If we do not focus on the end result, on the goal at hand, how will any of us ever battle against what holds us back?”

These past two years, since truly being happy and with finally finding my voice; also relating with so many other amazing advocates and survivors, I have found one common strength between us all.

“We all have a belief in some greater power that has kept us alive and guided us to where we are.”

My particular belief, my hope, my continued strength to battle onward, comes from faith. Faith there is a God and He did not intend for my life to be stripped away by the evil of my parents. I believe the few who have loved me, who now exist as Angels, are still around me and will protect me. This is the power that helps me hang on and move past this dark storm. The aura of stepfather with the gun, the pain of him tearing me apart as I lay there silent on the royal blue quilted bedspread; this is my most darkest haunting and I’m sure you each have your own particular event that seems to never leave.

So what is the amazing coping tool that my dear Marjorie has given me this time? The power, the belief, to CALL ON MY ANGELS!!!

My particular Angels are the three main people in my past who have loved me, but who God has taken.

The first of these is the one I feel closest too, the boy who came to live with us at fourteen and suffered through many of the outbursts of rage from stepfather. His name was John and he did all he could as a young man to try to protect me, show me kindness, and be more of a brother than my real blood brother could have been. He was and always will be the brightest moments of my life from age twelve to twenty-five. He never let me down. He distracted stepfather many times from getting to me with those raging fists. If it weren’t for John, I would have been killed at a very young age.

The second of these Angels is my Grandma Ellen. I remember still the power of that last beautiful hug she gave me. I can still feel her arms wrapping around the small child and letting her know that she meant the world to her. Grandma Ellen was given my baby crib, for why I’m not sure, but she kept it in that old ragged farm house on the top of one of the many mountains of Southern Missouri. The road to her house was a golden red gravel and it went up and down a series of five or six hills to get to her drive way. The farm house was made of old tattered barn wood and the linoleum floors were worn. The last night I spent in that house with her was on my fifth birthday and she still tried to put me in my crib. I remember telling her that I couldn’t fit, even though I was very small, there was no way I could sleep without fearing falling through the bed. It’s a funny pleasant memory that I hang onto and one I use to fill my head when the dark seems to threaten my day.

The next and last of the Angels I treasure is my father. I don’t have many memories of him, but those I have are all pleasant and I know he would have rescued me if he had known that such evil was murdering the little girl he created. He didn’t CHOOSE to leave my life. In fact some of my memories are of him coming to visit after he and mother split up. He’d swing me in the backyard, he’d pick up mother, brother and I to take us for drives in his beautiful red convertible. I’d get to sit on his lap while he drove and he’d work the pedals I couldn’t reach. I got to go watch him drag race and he was a winner with that car. When he’d win I got to keep the trophy, but my collection disappeared when stepfather moved us into the house he wanted.

This is my spiritual coping tool. You see stepfather has me somewhat terrified of even my afterlife. A part of me, no matter how silly I think it is, still believes that somehow he is going to be waiting for me there. He is going to be there and keep me from having peace. In reality I know this is very doubtful, but unfortunately, the fear of having to face him again; the fear of the evil he spoke coming true, this is part of my dark storm.

So now as I chase out the feeling of this demon once again, I know in my heart that these three Angels are fighting with me, circling me, protecting me and they will indeed carry me through to my afterlife. They will get out their powerful swords and conquer the dragon that swoops down to grab me. My Angels will protect me and I know if you think of your Angels, they will swarm in, circle and protect you, carry you through to the life of peace and happiness you deserve.

I hope as you read this you feel the power of connecting with those you’ve lost but who were most special in your life. Feel their love for you. Remember the happy moments spent with them. Allow them into your thoughts and see how they chase away the bad, the evil, the demon can no longer control, there is no space for him now. In this battle you have protectors and those special protectors will never leave you. They are always with you. They will create a castle of safety for you to spread out your wings and fly with them to the magic of your life.

Feel the magic of your Angels!!!

**In closing; if you do believe in the power of spiritual healing, I want to give you the other half of this coping skill. As you bring in your Angels to circle around, think about what power the demon has in your thoughts. Once you’ve got hold of it, throw your arms outward and say to yourself: “Me and my Angels now chase you away. You (say the name) have no more power here. You are banned from this castle and you will not return.** If you are one who believes in the aura of a bad spirit hovering around you. This coping skill gives you control over that aura and you can banish it away whenever you feel its presence. The power and control belong to you, the living, not those who hover around in our thoughts or who make their person felt in our homes. It is our safe castle and we say who crosses over the moat and who is banished to be eaten by the gators below if they return.

This tool has given me a renewed sense of strength. It allows me the power to push away any bad and call my protectors in to circle. Give it a try for you, hope it gives you that same sense of being in control.

There’s a headline that a local journalist used for the outstanding article she did about the release of “My Justice”.

Simply put ……. “For 32 Years I was Afraid to Breathe”

This is indeed the truth about how I viewed my life. While there are a few faint memories of happy, not perfect, but loving events shared with my real father and gentle caring from my mother; all of that is often over taken by the twelve years of detrimental, life altering evil.

I’ll never forget the very moment that I stepped through the threshold of our door and saw his large intimidating figure sitting; as if waiting for my arrival. When I deeply connect with that moment it makes me feel as if he and I had related before, but I’d say that was doubtful. It would have been possible through his connections with the church I attended with my sitter, but highly doubtful.

His presence on our couch; the turquoise colored, sixties style (I believe) sectional sofa, caused such an intense deep pounding fear. It wasn’t the type of fear or unsure nature of a child, but a shock of electrical pulses that caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand at attention.

I remember the gasp of my breath as I made eye contact with him.

I remember looking instantly trying to locate my mother.

I remember seeing my brother, who had come running through the door ahead of me, standing to my left completely still.

I remember the instant grasp with which I clutched my birthday toys.

This was the second my own breath no longer felt safe. I know your questions over the validity of this statement, but I assure you it’s been many repeated years in terror that I could not make it up if I tried.

The other second of holding my breath was as his hands reached toward me and connected with my skin. I felt a singe of heat from his touch. It was the first time in my childhood I felt like running. It was a panic sensation that sensed this would be an evil far worse than imagination, perhaps more than my mother expected.

That word, “EXPECTED” means a sense of foreseeing an end result. This in turn relates to my mother being verbally warned about my stepfather before she married him. The person who told me this fact about five years ago, was none other than my mother herself. She was warned by my stepfather’s adopted son about how sick and evil this man was.

“He is a sick man. Be careful of him. Don’t marry him.”

This is how his son described this man to my mother. If you are a mother, “Would you put your children in this man’s care?”

When his thick hands singed my skin and he pulled me towards him I reached out for my mother to save me. She instead was pushing me towards him encouraging me to hug and welcome him. When she introduced my brother and I to this man, her words were very simple, “This is Walter. He is going to be your new Dad.”

Since, I had just left my father and his family from a weekend visit and birthday celebration, this statement was huge for me. My father was tender and loving with me; he was safe; his touch didn’t burn. Now suddenly I’m meeting this man who instills a deep gut wrenching fear and he is going to take over the name and position of someone I loved so dearly. I had no clue how this would change things for the three of us, but it simply terrified me.

When the man left that night, my brother and I got ready for bed; I remember the worry inside. For whatever reason the normal act of saying “Hello” and welcoming him to our house, had struck a feeling of dreadful change. As always that night, I climbed in bed with Mom. She was my safe person at that time, my protector and comforter. There is the memory of my mother’s arms around me and as I told her I was scared of this man, she responded, “Everything’s going to be fine now.”

Things would actually be so dynamically invaded by this evil man, that our entire bond of three would never exist again. The evil inside this man, combined with my mother’s acceptance of this evil presence; would break us down and cause me to be “AFRAID TO BREATHE FOR THE NEXT TWELVE YEARS”.

At night when I climbed into bed as a child I would clutch the covers so tight my knuckles turned white. I waited for his sneaking approach as he prowled into the room and along the bottom edge of the bed. Looming, threatening, evil stepping towards me and suddenly the coal stained thick hand was covering my mouth. His fingers squeezing at my jaws to show his force. This act would hold me silent for over forty years.

During the next twenty years there would be abusers who have beaten me beyond recognition. Drug me out of bed by my hair and shoved my head into a bathtub filling with water. Repeatedly dumping my head in the tub and holding me there until I fought to be lifted. Numerous times I’ve stared down the barrel of both pistols and shotguns held at my head. When I was just 12, my stepfather used a loaded shotgun to take my virginity while my brother and sister were down stairs watching television. I’ve had years of repeated choking, kicking, punching, getting my face shoved into a mirror while yelling how pathetically ugly I am. My body has endured physical trauma at levels unimaginable to some. My back was seriously injured from being trapped in a corner at 5 am, naked and terrified, as I got repeatedly battered with a heavy chrome kitchen chair by a 6’2″, 180lb raging drunk.

Throughout the many years of extreme brutality and sadistic fear there have been many times when trying to avoid setting off this rage of attacks, that I would find my muscles clenched tight and purposely stopping my breath. Simply being afraid that if my breathing was out of their accepted rhythm, I would be killed; dead from the rage against my natural act of breathing.

I have since escaped this evil and publishing, “My Justice” gives voice to the child, woman, survivor who never believed that she had a say in how others treated her. This fear was a pattern of living and it was a life filled with repeated violent abusers. Now my soul is at peace, my mate has been given by the gracious hand of God. He has brought me to a place where the evil is now gone and my home is filled with love, gentleness and support.

Never give up on gaining your freedom; your happiness. Never stop dreaming of the day when you will be safe. This will surely be a time when you look back and finally catch the rhythm of your own spirit; your heart; your breath.